SCENE I.--_A Hall in_ HIPPOLITO’S _House_.

_On one side enter_ BERALDO, CAROLO, FONTINELL, _and_ ASTOLFO, _with ~Serving-men~, or ~Pages~, attending on them; on the other side enter_ LODOVICO.

LOD. Good day, gallants.

_All._ Good morrow, sweet Lodovico.

_Lod._ How dost thou, Carolo?

_Car._ Faith, as the physicians do in a plague, see the world sick, and am well myself.

_Fon._ Here’s a sweet morning, gentlemen.

_Lod._ Oh, a morning to tempt Jove from his ningle,[231] Ganymede; which is but to give dairy-wenches green gowns as they are going a-milking. What, is thy lord stirring yet?

[231] Favourite.

_Ast._ Yes, he will not be horsed this hour, sure.

_Ber._ My lady swears he shall, for she longs to be at court.

_Car._ Oh, we shall ride switch and spur; would we were there once.

_Enter_ BRYAN.

_Lod._ How now, is thy lord ready?

_Bry._ No, so crees sa’ me, my lady will have some little ting in her pelly first.

_Car._ Oh, then they’ll to breakfast.

_Lod._ Footman, does my lord ride i’th’ coach with my lady, or on horseback?

_Bry._ No, foot, la, my lady will have me lord sheet wid her, my lord will sheet in de one side, and my lady sheet in de toder side. [_Exit._

_Lod._ My lady sheet in de toder side! Did you ever hear a rascal talk so like a pagan? Is’t not strange that a fellow of his star, should be seen here so long in Italy, yet speak so from a Christian?

_Enter_ ANTONIO, _with a book_.

_Ast._ An Irishman in Italy! that so strange! why, the nation have running heads. [_They walk up and down._

_Lod._ Nay, Carolo, this is more strange, I ha’ been in France, there’s few of them. Marry, England they count a warm chimney corner, and there they swarm like crickets to the crevice of a brew-house; but sir, in England I have noted one thing.

_Ast._, _Ber._, _&c._ What’s that, what’s that of England?

_Lod._ Marry this, sir,--what’s he yonder?

_Ber._ A poor fellow would speak with my lord.

_Lod._ In England, sir,--troth, I ever laugh when I think on’t: to see a whole nation should be marked i’th’ forehead, as a man may say, with one iron: why, sir, there all costermongers are Irishmen.

_Car._ Oh, that’s to show their antiquity, as coming from Eve, who was an apple-wife, and they take after the mother.

_Ast._, _Ber._, _&c._ Good, good! ha, ha!

_Lod._ Why, then, should all your chimney-sweepers likewise be Irishmen? answer that now; come, your wit.

_Car._ Faith, that’s soon answered, for St. Patrick, you know, keeps purgatory; he makes the fire, and his countrymen could do nothing, if they cannot sweep the chimneys.

_Ast._, _Ber._, _&c._ Good again.

_Lod._ Then, sir, have you many of them, like this fellow, especially those of his hair, footmen to noblemen and others,[232] and the knaves are very faithful where they love. By my faith, very proper men many of them, and as active as the clouds,--whirr, hah!

[232] The running footmen of those days were generally Irishmen.

_Ast._, _Ber._, _&c._ Are they so?

_Lod._ And stout! exceeding stout; why, I warrant, this precious wild villain, if he were put to’t, would fight more desperately than sixteen Dunkirks.[233]

[233] Meaning Dunkirk privateers.

_Ast._ The women, they say, are very fair.

_Lod._ No, no, our country _buona-robas_,[234] oh! are the sugarest, delicious rogues!

[234] _Buona roba_ is an Italian phrase for a courtesan.

_Ast._ Oh, look, he has a feeling of them!

_Lod._ Not I, I protest. There’s a saying when they commend nations. It goes, the Irishman for his hand, the Welshman for a leg, the Englishman for a face, the Dutchman for a beard.

_Fon._ I’faith, they may make swabbers of them.

_Lod._ The Spaniard,--let me see,--for a little foot, I take it; the Frenchman,--what a pox hath he? and so of the rest. Are they at breakfast yet? come walk.

_Ast._ This Lodovico is a notable tongued fellow.

_Fon._ Discourses well.

_Ber._ And a very honest gentleman.

_Ast._ Oh! he’s well valued by my lord.

_Enter_ BELLAFRONT, _with a petition_.

_Fon._ How now, how now, what’s she?

_Ber._ Let’s make towards her.

_Bell._ Will it be long, sir, ere my lord come forth?

_Ast._ Would you speak with my lord?

_Lod._ How now, what’s this, a nurse’s bill? hath any here got thee with child and now will not keep it?

_Bell._ No, sir, my business is unto my lord.

_Lod._ He’s about his own wife’s now, he’ll hardly dispatch two causes in a morning.

_Ast._ No matter what he says, fair lady; he’s a knight, there’s no hold to be taken at his words.

_Fon._ My lord will pass this way presently.

_Ber._ A pretty, plump rogue.

_Ast._ A good lusty, bouncing baggage.

_Ber._ Do you know her?

_Lod._ A pox on her, I was sure her name was in my table-book once; I know not of what cut her die is now, but she has been more common than tobacco: this is she that had the name of the Honest Whore.

_Ast._, _Ber._, _&c._ Is this she?

_Lod._ This is the blackamoor that by washing was turned white: this is the birding-piece new scoured: this is she that, if any of her religion can be saved, was saved by my lord Hippolito.

_Ast._ She has been a goodly creature.

_Lod._ She has been! that’s the epitaph of all whores. I’m well acquainted with the poor gentleman her husband. Lord! what fortunes that man has overreached! She knows not me, yet I have been in her company; I scarce know her, for the beauty of her cheek hath, like the moon, suffered strange eclipses since I beheld it: but women are like medlars,--no sooner ripe but rotten:

A woman last was made, but is spent first. Yet man is oft proved in performance worst.

_Ast._, _Ber._, _&c._ My lord is come.

_Enter_ HIPPOLITO, INFELICE, _and two ~Waiting-women~_.

_Hip._ We ha’ wasted half this morning. Morrow, Lodovico.

_Lod._ Morrow, madam.

_Hip._ Let’s away to horse.

_Lod._, _Ast._, _&c._ Ay, ay, to horse, to horse.

_Bell._ I do beseech your lordship, let your eye read o’er this wretched paper.

_Hip._ I’m in haste, pray thee, good woman, take some apter time.

_Inf._ Good woman, do.

_Bell._ Oh ’las! it does concern a poor man’s life.

_Hip._ Life! sweetheart?--Seat yourself, I’ll but read this and come.

_Lod._ What stockings have you put on this morning, madam? if they be not yellow,[235] change them; that paper is a letter from some wench to your husband.

[235] Yellow was typical of jealousy.

_Inf._ Oh sir, that cannot make me jealous.

[_Exeunt all except_ HIPPOLITO, BELLAFRONT, _and_ ANTONIO.

_Hip._ Your business, sir? to me?

_Ant._ Yes, my good lord.

_Hip._ Presently, sir.--Are you Matheo’s wife?

_Bell._ That most unfortunate woman.

_Hip._ I’m sorry these storms are fallen on him; I love Matheo, And any good shall do him; he and I Have sealed two bonds of friendship, which are strong In me, however fortune does him wrong. He speaks here he’s condemned. Is’t so?

_Bell._ Too true.

_Hip._ What was he whom he killed? Oh, his name’s here; Old Giacomo, son to the Florentine; Giacomo, a dog, that to meet profit, Would to the very eyelids wade in blood Of his own children. Tell Matheo, The duke, my father, hardly shall deny His signèd pardon; ’twas fair fight, yes, If rumour’s tongue go true; so writes he here.-- To-morrow morning I return from court, Pray be you here then.--I’ll have done, sir, straight:-- [_To_ ANTONIO. But in troth say, are you Matheo’s wife? You have forgot me.

_Bell._ No, my lord.

_Hip._ Your turner, That made you smooth to run an even bias, You know I loved you when your very soul Was full of discord: art not a good wench still?

_Bell._ Umph, when I had lost my way to Heaven, you showed it: I was new born that day.

_Re-enter_ LODOVICO.

_Lod._ ’Sfoot, my lord, your lady asks if you have not left your wench yet? When you get in once, you never have done. Come, come, come, pay your old score, and send her packing; come.

_Hip._ Ride softly on before, I’ll o’ertake you.

_Lod._ Your lady swears she’ll have no riding on before, without ye.

_Hip._ Prithee, good Lodovico.

_Lod_. My lord, pray hasten.

_Hip._ I come. [_Exit_ LODOVICO. To-morrow let me see you, fare you well; Commend me to Matheo. Pray one word more: Does not your father live about the court?

_Bell._ I think he does, but such rude spots of shame Stick on my cheek, that he scarce knows my name.

_Hip._ Orlando Friscobaldo, is’t not?

_Bell._ Yes, my lord.

_Hip._ What does he for you?

_Bell._ All he should: when children From duty start, parents from love may swerve; He nothing does: for nothing I deserve.

_Hip._ Shall I join him unto you, and restore you to wonted grace?

_Bell._ It is impossible.

_Hip._ It shall be put to trial: fare you well. [_Exit_ BELLAFRONT. The face I would not look on! Sure then ’twas rare, When in despite of grief, ’tis still thus fair. Now, sir, your business with me.

_Ant._ I am bold T’express my love and duty to your lordship In these few leaves.

_Hip._ A book!

_Ant._ Yes, my good lord.

_Hip._ Are you a scholar?

_Ant._ Yes, my lord, a poor one.

_Hip._ Sir, you honour me. Kings may be scholars’ patrons, but, faith, tell me, To how many hands besides hath this bird flown, How many partners share with me?

_Ant._ Not one, In troth, not one: your name I held more dear; I’m not, my lord, of that low character.

_Hip._ Your name I pray?

_Ant._ Antonio Georgio.

_Hip._ Of Milan?

_Ant._ Yes, my lord.

_Hip._ I’ll borrow leave To read you o’er, and then we’ll talk: till then Drink up this gold; good wits should love good wine; This of your loves, the earnest that of mine.-- [_Gives money._

_Re-enter_ BRYAN.

How now, sir, where’s your lady? not gone yet?

_Bry._ I fart di lady is run away from dee, a mighty deal of ground, she sent me back for dine own sweet face, I pray dee come, my lord, away, wu’t tow go now?

_Hip._ Is the coach gone? Saddle my horse, the sorrel.

_Bry._ A pox a’ de horse’s nose, he is a lousy rascally fellow, when I came to gird his belly, his scurvy guts rumbled; di horse farted in my face, and dow knowest, an Irishman cannot abide a fart. But I have saddled de hobby-horse, di fine hobby is ready, I pray dee my good sweet lord, wi’t tow go now, and I will run to de devil before dee?

_Hip._ Well, sir,--I pray let’s see you, master scholar.

_Bry._ Come, I pray dee, wu’t come, sweet face? Go. [_Exeunt._